Greg Serrano: Actual Adult
by bminor
Summary: Greg has been having sex with Rebecca. A lot. It seems his... 'capaciousness' has landed her in the hospital, and although there's a small and terrible part of him that takes a tiny amount of pleasure in that, as he sits by her hospital bed like a crappy romantic comedy he can't shake the knowledge of how quickly he dropped everything to be here. Wasn't this supposed to be casual?


I wake up to the sting of bleach in my nostrils, and it takes me a few seconds to realise where I am. I shouldn't need that time; I've been in and out of this hospital so many times with my dad and his disaster of a medical history that I should have a built-in sense memory for the smell of this place. Bleach, questionable hospital food, the sterile laundering of bed sheets, and what was the other thing… oh yeah, fear. Everyone hates this place, and everyone tries to pretend that everything's fine, but they can't hide the fact that they're still terrified.

I can't say that today's events have given me any more of a favourable feeling towards this damn building. I didn't expect to be seeing Rebecca in here, sleeping in the kind of adjustable, upright bed which is the only thing that stops my dad from coughing his lungs up when things get bad. Honestly, I'm not a fan of the fact that I now have the mental image of her floating around in my brain – she's not supposed to be a part of my crappy associations with this place.

I'm also not thrilled at how quickly I came running to her as soon as I received the text telling me she was in hospital… I mean, did I even think twice about leaving the gorgeous date Hector had set up? What was her name… Britney? Brandy? Whoever she was, it was like she faded into invisibility when my Rebecca tunnel-vision kicked in. Everything else in the meaningless periphery, and just Rebecca Bunch in focus. Oh God, there's definitely no way this can end well.

I stretch out my neck since I fell asleep with it lying at a peculiar angle on the edge of her bed – yes, like a shitty romantic movie, but checking my watch I see it's only been 15 mins so it's not like I've refused to leave her bedside or whatever. Once Dr. Improv had finished giving his inappropriately comedic diagnosis, Josh stormed out (what the hell is his problem? …like I don't know), followed closely by Paula who had turned an infuriated shade of puce.

If Rebecca wasn't so influenced by Paula's opinion, I'd find it kind of comforting how low an opinion Paula has of me. It's familiar - like a blankie of disapproval. Under normal circumstances I'd even agree with her on a lot of points, because seriously, I don't get what Rebecca sees in me either. But I guess my opinion of myself isn't so entirely low that I'm willing to take crap from someone who disapproved of me basically from the minute she met me. She doesn't even know why I'm the worst - all she knows is I'm not Josh, and I guess that's enough reason for her. But honestly, I'm not her biggest fan either, so why do I even care what she thinks?

It's pointless having this argument with myself, because I already know the answer; I care what Paula thinks because Rebecca does. All they seem to do together is obsess over Chan, and whether it's fair or not, my shitty frustration with that obsession gets assigned to Paula because my feelings for Rebecca are already complicated enough. I spent so long trying to figure out why exactly Rebecca gets so consumed by him. At first I figured it was probably the ridiculous physique – he's like a Filipino Johnny Bravo, for Christ's sake. But the more I got to know her the more I realised that can't be the only reason, and I still don't understand it. I'm about as confused by that as I am by what she sees in me. I just get women, you know?

Whatever the reason, for once in my life I'm trying to actually, you know… give a damn. _Yeah, if that's the story you want to tell yourself_ , my inner monologue scoffs. That guy's a real dick. And yet, he's right. I'm not making an effort to care about Rebecca. I didn't decide that leaving a date and coming here was the most sensible and adult thing to do. I did it because she's under my skin, and in my head, and even if I'd gone ahead with the date I still would have felt weird bringing Britney-Brandy back to my apartment. I mean, partly because of the awkward morning-after introduction to my dad and his birds, but mostly because my pillows currently smell like Rebecca. And I don't want them to smell like Britney-Brandy.

It's this stupid realisation that makes the situation with Rebecca seem so much clearer than it has been. I'm not sure how I managed to convince myself that we were just fuck buddies ( _fear_ , the voice mutters), or why I wasn't just straight with Hector that I didn't want to date other girls ( _um,_ _fear_ ), or why I didn't tell Rebecca that I wasn't okay with her dating other people ( _three guesses, dummy_ ). Even the thought of her - clearly fake - Broadway schedule of eight dates in a week made me feel kind of weirdly jealous, even though I had no good reason to.

Suddenly it occurs to me that Josh and I may have a lot more in common than I thought. Aren't we both just too damn scared to tell her how we feel, so we tell ourselves dumb lies about how we don't care? Hands up who thought I'd ever be in the running to date the same girl as Josh Chan… there isn't usually much overlap in our taste in women, and if there is I don't provide particularly strong competition against him and his hairless six-pack. Yet here I am; for some reason, she's sleeping with me (a lot). She seems to care about me. At the very least she cares enough to text me when she's admitted to hospital - and it wasn't her who texted Josh. Fuckin' Paula.

So screw it. If Rebecca is into me for some unfathomable reason, I'm not going to argue with her. For once I'm going to try not to fuck it up before it even turns into something, because Josh may be too scared to tell her how he feels, but I won't be. I will be 'Greg Serrano: Actual Adult'. And let's face it, the only thing I've got going for me against Josh is time – if I want even a remote chance at a shot with her I've got to nut up before he does. We all know how it ends if that adorable, dimpled moron finally figures out how he feels.

Rebecca stirs in her sleep, drowsy from a combination of the IV antibiotics and the infection she's fighting. I promise myself that when she wakes up, I'll just tell her how I feel. That can't be too difficult, right? People do it every day. Every single day, and nobody dies. That I know of.

I'm about 10 seconds away from talking myself out of it and resigning myself to life as 'Greg Serrano: Pathetic and Scared', when her eyes open and she smiles at me through sleepy lids.

"Hey," she croaks, clearing her throat to shake off the sleep. "Thanks for staying."

And once again, I am brave.


End file.
